


Freddy

by DoctorBilly



Series: Chimæra [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June<br/>Marrakech </p><p>Billy is on his own</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freddy

Billy sits cross-legged on his bed, the camel-leather bag Sherlock gave him open in front of him.

The contents are interesting, and, while not surprising now, they had been when he had first seen them. Not at all what he had expected when Sherlock had said "presents".

Three pairs of black silk boxer shorts. They roll up very small. Two thin, light cotton t-shirts, also rolled very small.

A pair of glove-soft black leather slip-on shoes and two pairs of fine silk socks, folded into a small cotton bag.

A brass key had puzzled him. He knows what it is for now, and smiles.

There are two pairs of contact lenses, tinted light brown, and a plastic bottle of lens cleaning solution. _Disguise_ , Billy thinks.

He pulls out a plastic ziplock bag. Checks inside to make sure everything is still there. A soft, well-used wallet, with cash, some dirhams and lots of euros; and a debit card, with the name Frederick Denton embossed on it. There is a driver's licence, and passport, also with Frederick Denton's name, Billy's face and someone else's hairstyle, a dark crewcut.

There had been a note with the wallet. _7642: My does not know this identity. Phone is pay as you go. Topped up. Try to use the phone as little as possible._

Billy had wondered why Sherlock didn't want Mycroft to know about his new identity. He had assumed the number was the PIN for the account. He had memorised it and mashed the note to nothing in warm water in the bathroom basin.

There are more papers. Registration documents for the Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle kept under a tarpaulin in the riad lobby. Billy's motorcycle, the one he had graduated to when Arkady deemed him competent.

Mycroft doesn't know how much he has improved as a rider, either. The documents are in Frederick Denton's name. The motorcycle has been given a re-spray and new number plates recently. Billy wonders if anyone has thought to tell Mycroft.

Billy scrabbles through the rest of the camel-leather bag's contents.

" _What did I do with the phone?_ "

When he finds it, it is still disappointing. An old fashioned Nokia, clamshell design, with a scratched blue metallic case. He had been hoping for a smartphone. This doesn't even have a camera. No internet access. He sighs, then brightens up. He has a phone.

He switches it on. There is a text from Sherlock. Billy swears as he clicks the key to open and read it.

**To: FD: Return delayed. No projected date. Sorry.** **No response needed. VS**

Nothing from Arkady. No response from Lestrade. Billy sighs. He supposes that Lestrade might just have deleted the text from an unknown number. He hadn't dared to put his real name to the one message he had sent.

He doesn't know Arkady's number, he'd never needed it before, and Sherlock hasn't added it to his contacts. He supposes there must be a good reason. He switches the phone off again and puts it away.

The remaining contents of the bag fit a pattern. A solar multi charger, with sockets and leads for the phone and his iPod; a wet razor, spare blades and soap; a tiny microfibre towel; a tube of surgical adhesive; a small, dainty-looking multi tool and a slab of Montelimar nougat, sealed in cellophane.

Billy had laughed out loud the first time he had seen the bag's contents. It was obvious what he was meant to do. He had felt pleased, in a way, that Arkady obviously thought he was ready.

He smiles again. The bag is filled with Arkady's travelling-light wish list, with added shoes and nougat.

Arkady _must_ have had a hand in these choices, although he suspects that Sherlock chose the boxer shorts.

Billy packs everything back into the bag. He has been waiting to be told when to leave. He decides not to wait any longer. He will just go.

He thinks for a moment, and adds his thin grey cashmere jumper to the bag, and a pair of lightweight black cotton trousers, both rolled up small. He slides a small, new, plain-paper notebook and a flat tin of artist's pencils down the side of the bag. He thinks again. _The gun. What should I do with the gun?_

Billy goes to the bathroom, and looks carefully at his hair. He has a quarter of an inch or so of dark roots showing. He sighs, goes back to the bedroom and finds his sewing kit.

The small scissors are not ideal for the job, but in half an hour or so he manages to hack off all the red.

He scowls at his reflection. It looks ridiculous. He plugs in his electric razor and attacks his head. The result makes him cry a little bit. He feels uglier than he usually does.

He pulls himself together. It will grow back. He tidies up all the hair and wraps it in newspaper. He will take it down to the kitchen later, and burn it. The razor will be left behind, along with most of his clothes. The sewing kit goes in his bag.

Billy looks through the rest of his belongings. Most of them will have to be left behind.

He goes to his desk. There is a sea-glass necklace he has just finished making. Shades of green, from wine-bottle to the palest hint of green in clear, recycled glass, strung on a dark green thong.

His little collection of jeweller's drills are scattered across the blotter. He gathers them up into the silk paintbrush roll he uses to keep them together and pushes them carefully to the bottom of his bag.

He dresses in skinny jeans for the first time in weeks, puts in contacts and settles down to wait.

Today is Mamoun's day for visiting the public hammam.

Billy switches on his iPod, puts his earbuds in, touches the screen. Arkady's voice fills his ears, singing Bayushki-Bayu. Billy laughs, and sniffs a little bit.

Arkady had stolen his iPod and kept it for two days. When he'd given it back, internet was still blocked, but it had new apps and music; phrase books in several languages, including Russian; a collection of Russian folk tales, in Cyrillic and translation, and a maintenance handbook for the Kawasaki.

He opens his maps folder. He has maps of everywhere. Road maps, street maps of major European cities, showing hotels and hostels, maps showing holiday beaches, tourist attractions and campsites. Railway maps, a map of the London Underground, maps of the Moscow, Paris, Berlin, Helsinki, other metros.

He finds a map of northern Morocco and plans a route to Tangier. It had taken six hours for Arkady to cover the distance on the Harley Davidson. It will take longer for Billy on the Kawasaki, and he will have to refuel more often.

He panics for a moment, then thinks of the young people he has seen on their gap years, easily finding their way around the world at age eighteen.

" _You're thirty one, Wiggins. Grow up._ "

He hears Mamoun and Nabil leave for the hammam. They will be gone for several hours, trusting that he will stay put while they are gone. Arkady had been in the habit of going with them, joking with Mamoun as they locked Billy in. " _Where would scaredy cat Sasha go?_ "

There is only one door to the street, no outside windows, and at three storeys, the roof is too high for him to jump from. Billy has never joined them, of course. His tattoo is too distinctive to be put on display in public. He has always been fine when they come back, usually still engrossed in whatever he was doing when they went out. Sometimes he is soaking in the private hammam next door to his bedroom. Mamoun approves of this activity and does not disturb him.

Mamoun has continued to trust him, now that Arkady is no longer in Marrakech. He has behaved perfectly every time they have left him alone in the riad. Until today.

Billy puts on his leathers and boots, then quickly picks up his helmet, his bag and his oud. He is not leaving without music this time.

He turns the taps on in the hammam, feeling a little guilty about wasting water. He remembers to get rid of his cut hair.

He lashes his oud to the back of the bike with bungee cords, straps on his bag, shoving it around to the small of his back. He hooks the helmet onto the handlebars off the bike, remembering Arkady's care in not wearing a crash helmet while walking in the medina.

The front door is locked. Billy has a key. He pushes the Kawasaki out of the street door, locks the door again, walks the bike quickly through the medina until he gets to a street wide enough to ride in.

He leaves his gun and the sea glass necklace wrapped in Arkady's fur coat in the bottom of the wardrobe.

Mamoun and Nabil return to the riad after three hours of communal washing, swimming for Nabil, massage and gossip for Mamoun. It is another hour before Mamoun realises that the tarpaulin covering the Kawasaki is actually covering piled up baskets, and that the water running in the hammam is not being used to wash Billy's body.

They waste another hour searching the medina. No one has seen a redhead with such distinctive sea-glass eyes.

They return to the riad, search through the belongings Billy has left. When Nabil finds Billy's gun, Mamoun raises the alarm.

Arkady has equipped Billy as well as he can for what he is thinking of as his rite of passage, a solo trip to Gibraltar. It is a straightforward ride to Tangier, on roads Billy has already travelled, and a short ferry ride across the Straits. He should be there in less than fourteen hours, even on the Kawasaki. He will not need an overnight stay, and if he sticks to main roads, he will be fine.

Mycroft will have him picked up in Gibraltar and brought home to England. Arkady has confidence that it will be all right. Until Mamoun tells him Billy is unarmed.

Arkady calls Mycroft. Tells him Billy has gone from the safe house, and is on his way to Gibraltar, where he has standing orders to go if he needs to leave Morocco. Arkady does not know that Sherlock's note has effectively told Billy not to trust Mycroft, and by extension, any plan Mycroft might know about.

Mycroft sets a member of his staff to watch Alexander Callaghan's electronic trail. Bank transactions, hotel bookings, ferry ticket purchases, passport checks. There is nothing.

He calls in a favour and arranges for surveillance at the Gibralter ferry terminal. The operatives will be looking for Alexander Callaghan, who may be be nervously riding a dark blue Kawasaki motorcycle.

By the time The operatives at the ferry terminal, and later, Mycroft realise that no redhead with distinctive sea-glass eyes has disembarked from the Gibraltar ferry in the relevant time period, brown eyed, shaven headed Freddy Denton is expertly riding his sea-green bike out of Algeciras, heading for Portugal.


End file.
